Beer Makers Poem by jan oskar hansen

The old brewery, ochre and dead windows,
appeared as a benignly if neglected castle
in afternoon’s radiance.

Inside it reeked of a boozer early
in the morning; butts on floors and the echo
of drunken voices.

Sun raked, black letters on top of the building
proudly proclaimed: “Portugal’s best Beer.”
That was long ago before mass tourism,
EU, Carlsberg Lager and Newcastle Brown.

On the top floor, where offices used to be,
five starved cats sat and waited for yesterday,
they were the offspring of fat cats which,
had lived high on brewers and spilt ale.

Hopeless dreamers, licking matted fur,
lost in melancholy; hepatic eyes of yesterday.